


All Better (Or: Five times Anders heals Fenris and one time Fenris heals Anders)

by Tiili97



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: 5+1, Anders Has Issues, Coming Out, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Healing, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attack, Purring Elves, Red Hawke, Temporary Character Death, The Deep Roads and all of Anders' negative feelings about it, The chantry situation, Trans Male Character, physical injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-12-20 06:51:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11915460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiili97/pseuds/Tiili97
Summary: A fenders love story told in five and one snapshots.





	1. Before the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> A story that has been rattling around in my head for months. Cheesy as they might be, I just love 5+1 stories, and this is my take on it. Edited but not beta-read, so i apologize in advance for any strangeness.

 

 

The first time is before their story has even begun – before they became the mage and the mage hater, the abomination and the dog, Anders and Fenris. When they were just an elf that Hawke dragged along, and a healer with a tired smile. Back when Hawke was still clearing out the family mansion, and still so desperately unused to any kind of leadership that the healing potions ran out one critical moment before a rogue slaver could slice up Fenris’ arm.

 

That is how they end up at Anders’ clinic, the lantern doused for the night but the healer himself still awake to open the door for Hawke’s cheery greeting. Hawke is like an unexpected flood, there and gone again along with several healing potions, leaving a bewildered, bleeding elf, a small bag of money, and a loaf of bread behind.

 

Anders just sighs and goes to light the candles again. His patient sits hunched over on a cot, one hand covering his wound and eyes wandering over every inch of the clinic, searching it for dangers. There are no visible injuries except for the obvious one, so Anders pulls his eyes away from the curious tattoos and continues looking for spare bandages. He is used to wary patients – Darktown doesn’t do well to foster trust, and many have come half-expecting a shiv between their ribs or a collar around their neck, but desperate enough to try it anyway.

He is determined to prove them wrong.

The patient remains silent, but Anders doesn’t mind. It leaves more room for him to talk. He cherishes these moments – However strained his and Justice’s communication is nowadays, there is one thing they agree on: Healing is Anders’ domain, and here he is in control.

So he talks while he gathers his supplies and delights in the small responses he garners from his patient – complaints about Hawke’s carelessness gets a chuffing sort of half-laugh-half-scoff which he finds entirely adorable. Vaguely flirtatious remarks earn him an all-out giggle, if one quickly muffled behind spiked gauntlets.

Anders grins, and has almost relaxed as he sits down on the cot opposite of the elf, reaching out with magic pooling in his hand to run a quick diagnostic – at least until his fingers touch the elf’s skin, and everything suddenly goes blue and white and _loud_.

 

He lets go as if burnt, falling over backwards in his surprise.

 “Don’t touch me!” -“ The elf snarl, tattoos flaring – and maker, is that _lyrium_?

His tattoos flare again, and Anders can _feel_ it, tugging at his magic and stirring Justice deep in his mind. Lyrium. In his skin. Not recent, if the amount of scarring means anything.

“Don’t touch me, _mage_.”

Anders stiffens, musings forgotten, rage welling not at the word, but at the vehement _hatred_ that stirs underneath the letters. Justice surges with the instinctual anger but he pushes down both. The elf tries to get up and leave and Anders almost lets him – but he is a healer, and this man – despite his opinions – is injured.

“Wait, please – if you leave that without proper care, it will get infected. I can heal you without magic, just – just don’t leave like that. I mean, if your arm falls off and you can’t swing that big sword you got there, Hawke will blame me and that set of puppy-eyes are worse than a sword to the chest, trust me.” He’s babbling, he knows that, but it seems to have the effect he hoped for – the elf is sitting down again, those suspicious eyes now trained on Anders.

“No magic.” His voice is final, and Anders nods.

“Right, no problem.” Anders wastes no time in pulling up the necessary equipment. When he sees his patients poorly-hidden surprise, he can’t help but smirk

“What, you thought you were the only mage-hater in need of healing? I know my craft.” He snarks. Part of him wants to continue teasing, but Justice puts his metaphorical foot down. Joking is not conducive to healing, especially not with a mage-hater. Anders rolls his eyes.

“Shall we get started, then?”

 

It does not take long until Anders is doing the last, neat stitches and snipping off the thread.

“Better?” He asks, only slightly mocking. The elf had barely flinched throughout the entire ordeal – not even when Anders poured on the cleansing wash without warning, the burn his own small revenge for the hatred in the elf’s words. Anders can respect that, in a grudging sort of way. He hands the elf a rag to wash off the worst of the blood with while he gathers his things.

“Try not to tear it, keep it clean, and come back in a week or so to have the stitches removed, okay?” The elf is barely listening, already testing the arm’s flexibility. Anders sighs, but resolves not to comment. He catches his patient’s eye for a second, attempting a small smile.

“I’d advice you not to go along with Hawke, but well. We both know how that tends to end.” The other mage could be damn persuasive sometimes. The elf gives the same half-laugh-half-scoff as earlier, before meeting Anders gaze for just another moment, seemingly contemplating something. Then he holds out a hand.

“I am Fenris. I wish to… I am grateful for your help.” His voice is deep and slightly hoarse, and Anders wastes no time in returning the greeting. The hand is bare of its gauntlet and slightly sticky with blood, and Anders can feel the warmth of it resonating in his entire body.

“My name is Anders. Glad to help, really.” He smiles, and Fenris withdraws his hand.

“I should go. It is late.” Anders nods and moves to give Fenris space, cheering internally. _See, Justice? Kill them with kindness._ Outwardly, he just smiles.

“Try to stay away from the bandits, please! They’ll come groveling to me for healing tomorrow, and I could do without the extra work.” He calls out after him. The elf snorts, already at the door.

“If I meet any bandits, they will not live long enough for that.” Anders laughs and locks the door, turning back to his empty clinic with a smile on his face. Not an all-together awful evening.

 

The next time they see each other, Fenris has heard everything and nothing about the _abomination_ and Anders rage at him together with Justice, because it is easier to hate a single person than an entire world. Fenris remove the stitches himself, and the jagged scar serve as a reminder to them both of what almost existed in that clinic before either of their stories truly began.


	2. The second time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know what sucks? The deep roads suck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not as much one moment as a collection of them, but Anders has a lot of feelings about the Deep Roads. None of them are good.

The next time is somewhere too dark and deep and dreadful, a place Anders had sworn never to return to. But Hawke is too persuasive for his own good, and so he finds himself as the unofficial leader of a deep roads expedition, mind alert for the scratching and singing of the darkspawn as they delve ever deeper.

 

It doesn’t come painlessly - his nightmares are worse in a place like this, with so many of his fears pushing at once, and so he does not sleep. It’s easier to keep watch like that, anyway. No matter how big and secure the group is, Anders knows how dangerous the deep roads are: knows that all it takes is a single drop of tainted blood in an open wound and then there is no cure but the joining cup or a merciful death.

 

But it works, somehow - they get to the accursed thaig without anyone carrying major wounds, and Anders can relax with the presence of dwarven doors between them and the darkspawn. He still sleeps fitfully - his dreams having taken on a different edge, now, the darkspawn’s scratching song joined by something smoother, something that has Justice both amazed and terrified.

 

They learn why, soon enough - as they delve deeper into the thaig there is lyrium, curling up the walls and pulsing with red power. Anders can’t help but glance at Fenris - the warrior is looking at the lyrium with the same look of awe and terror that he feels. Perhaps it sings to him as it does to Justice? Anders won’t ask, and quickly averts his eyes before Fenris can catch him and start snarling. They have been arguing almost constantly for more than a year, now - Anders is growing tired of it. Fenris will not be convinced to agree to his point, and neither will Anders budge. Had it been only Anders in charge, he would have given up long ago - moved on to different subjects, or stopped talking with the elf completely. But the part of him that is Justice, more and more indistinguishable from himself for every day that passes, is strangely fascinated by Fenris. Perhaps it is the lyrium - perhaps it is the undeniable injustice he has suffered, uncomfortably alike Anders own experiences.

 

Whatever it is, Anders cannot seem to leave Fenris alone. And he must admit, he is far from bad-looking, and his arguments force both Anders and Justice to remain sharp. It’s… nice, to have someone that challenges him instead of simply ignoring what he has to say. What Fenris thinks is impossible to say, but he has yet to tear Anders’ heart out, so it can’t be that bad.

 

All musings over Fenris and him are forgotten as they find the red lyrium idol. Anders refuses to touch it. Fenris, too, for which Anders is strangely grateful - the red lyrium feels sickly and wrong up close, like an infected wound, and no good can come from that.

 

Varric, of course, can’t feel any of this, and happily picks it up. Anders assumes his dwarfish blood affords him some protection. Bertrand seems similarly fascinated, as is Hawke - although the force mage refrains from touching it, too.

Anders turns away from the exchange to go through his pack, taking advantage of their short respite, before a sudden, loud thud sounds and the door is closed.

 

The door is closed, and if Varric’s angry shouts mean anything, it will remain closed. They’re trapped. Anders feels his pack slip from limp hands, but the feel of it is muted, as if far away. Everything is far away, actually, everything except the door, suddenly right in front of him. Closed. Locked. Trapped. The darkness is closing in. Anders closes his eyes, tries to breath slowly. No. He is not back there. He is here, in the Deep Roads. His magic is still there - _Justice_ is still there - and he is not alone.

”-ders? Anders!” a worried voice filters in - Varric, Anders realizes as he opens his eyes. The dwarf is kneeling over him. Huh. When did he end up on the floor?

 

Varric’s face, however worried, is welcome - it gives Anders’ roiling mind something to latch on to. Soon he is able to see Hawke, similarly kneeling on his other side and wringing her hands. Even Fenris is there, if a bit further away. Their eyes lock for a moment, and Anders is sure he is not imagining the worried relief on the elf’s face before Fenris turns and stalks off.

 

He manages to reassure them of his health – they do not need to hear his life’s sob stories, not now, not ever. He will survive this as he has survived everything else. No – he looks around, at the writer with a million plans, the once-slave only just learning to live free, the woman who has the same aura of heroism as the one who saved Ferelden from Darkspawn. They shine bright despite the darkness of the Deep Roads. He will not see them extinguished, if it so costs his life.

 

They keep going. What else can they do? Anders’ maps show nothing except yawning emptiness, so he draws new tunnels as they go further, adding to the map out of some twisted sense of obligation. Even if they die – if he dies – he will ensure someone in the future at least knows which way not to go. He shares this with the rest of the group, and their grim half-smiles shows that they are thinking along similar roads.

 

He stops sleeping all together, drawing on Justice to stay awake and alert while the others sleep. When faced with the beckoning of demons long-forgotten in the depths roiling along with the nightmares of darkspawn and isolation, insomnia is the lesser of two evils. His friends’ worries are kind, but Anders knows kindness has no use in this maze of creeping death. It proves useful in the end, as he can feel the sickening tickle of darkspawn long before they reach their small camp.

 

 

Despite the fore-warning, the fight is brutal. The four of them are tired and hungry – fueled only by spite and adrenaline. Anders stays back and concentrates on keeping the barriers up – recasting them as soon as one falls, desperately trying to prevent the darkspawn from getting close enough to hurt any of his companions. He remembers the sickly faces of those infected by the blight – his imagination paints them over Hawke, and Varric, and even Fenris before he manages to shake the images out of his head. No. _Not while he lives._

They fight forward, inch by ragged inch, and Anders bites his tongue to stop himself from hoping. But they are almost there, almost through, so _close…_

And then a Hurlock rushes at Fenris’ unprotected flank and before Anders knows it there is blood. _Fenris’_ blood, and the elf only grits his teeth and takes his weight off the leg that is now bleeding heavily as he turns and beheads the Hurlock in one swoop before he falls to one knee, breath hissing. Anders is already on his way, darkspawn falling around him as Varric and Hawke handles the last few stragglers. They’re both fine, being ranged fighters like himself, but Fenris… The image of dark skin blotched with disease and those emerald eyes turning gummy and hazy flashes before him.  _Not while he lives._  

 

Fenris has his customary snarl ready when Anders kneels in front of him, but there is pain beneath it that neither can ignore. The Hurlock’s jagged sword has flayed open the elf’s thigh, a broken wound with strips of skin only barely hanging on and blood running freely. Anders hisses –  there was no way was he going to be able to heal this without magic. Most likely there is already blight present, and if he does not do something quick… Fenris stares at him with hard eyes, and Anders meets them with equal determination. _Not while he lives._   
“Fenris, I have to – “

“No.” He bites off, shying backwards like a frightened horse when Anders makes even the slightest gesture. Anders grits his teeth around Justice’s defensive anger and focus on Fenris.

“Fenris…”

“I said no!”

“Listen, Fenris!” There was a hint of Justice in Anders’ tone now, booming and desperate at once. “Unless I heal you, you will die. This is no small cut you can fix with a healing potion and a needle. It will become infected, be it with blight or whatever other nasty things can be found down here, and then we’ll either have to put you down or see you slowly succumb to infection. There are no ifs and buts about it. Damnit, elf, don’t waste your hard-earned freedom like this!” Anders ends, desperation winning out in the end as he kneels in front of the elf, consciously putting himself at a disadvantage to make the elf see, finally, that he means no harm. Fenris looks at him as if he has never seen him before. A mage, kneeling before him, begging for the right to help him.

 

 

The ensuing silence stretched for a few seconds before Fenris let out a long-suffering sigh, shaky with pain.   
“Fine. But if you try anything, touch anything outside of the wound, I will know, and I will-“

“End me in an instant, I know.” Anders’ reply is bland, continuing their customary banter, but inside he almost cries in jubilation. He fumbles out his canteen, using the last of his clean water to wash away the grit and dirt.

”Can you undress? the cloth will stick to the wound, and - ”

”No.”Anders is not surprised, neither with Fenris’ reaction or his own frustration at it.

”Really, Fenris? You’re already letting me do this with magic. There’s nothing under there I haven’t seen before, I can promise you that.” His wheedling has no effect - Fenris’ seems to have run out of agreeability and stubbornly refuses. Anders ends up cutting off the scraps surrounding the wound, working quickly to clean out the wound as Fenris grows paler from pain and blood loss. A quick burst of magic clears out any burgeoning infections, and a small and concentrated fire spell obliterates every last shred of blight there might be hidden away in the wound. Fenris grits his teeth against the magic, his markings glowing an eerie blue. Anders tries and fails not to think about the first time they were like this, when he didn’t yet know their story.

 

At last, he can call on a blue ball of swirling healing magic, letting the spirits guide him as he molds it into Fenris’ leg and knits together muscle, reconnects veins, regrows skin to smooth over the wound until there is no trace of it. He closes his eyes in concentration and misses the wondering look Fenris gives him, the soft pulsing of the markings over his entire body.

 

Once he is finished, Anders sits back with a grimace.

”Better?” He asks, exhaustion evident in his voice. Fenris hesitantly touches the new-grown skin, still tender and tingling slightly. He nods mutely before looking up and locking eyes with Anders. The healer sucks in a breath - the eyes that meet his aren’t filled with their usual distrust and wariness. Instead, he looks like he had that night in the clinic so long ago - confused, yes, and wary, but with a hesitant measure of trust.

 

Anders finds himself suddenly determined to not lose that trust once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think that as Fenris' experience with magic is purely pain, he can't fathom the thought of benevolent healing magic until he feels it himself.


	3. The Third Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Change occurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this chapter several times and I'm still not super happy with this chapter but oh well. Have at it.

The third time, everything has changed once again and Anders finds himself struggling to keep up. One Hawke in the Gallows, one a lit candle on Wintersend eve.  the others in Hightown. Hawke still needs her Darktown healer, though, and Anders is infinitely grateful for that. Without her support for the mages’ cause, intensified now that her brother has gone, Anders doubts he would still be alive. He offered to contact Carver for her, but she refused - in her eyes, he had betrayed her, and was therefore dead to her. Hawke saw the world in black and white, and the part of Anders that is Justice appreciates that.

The rest of him doubles his conviction to never end up on the wrong side of her blade.

 

Fenris also changes, and that is the most staggering thing of all. But it makes sense, in a way – no one can stay angry forever. Like a hissing and spitting alley cat turning sweet at a warm hand and fresh fish, Fenris… softens. In increments, small things that no one but a dear friend would notice. Or a dear enemy, for that matter.

 

He leaves his mansion more. The elven servants Anders treats tell of the elf that occasionally roams the marketplace, the fiercest haggler they have ever seen but unsure about the exact function of yeast. He smiles more, drinks easier, tell stories of his time on the run when Aveline share war stories and Isabela boasts of sea adventures.

He starts up a weekly game of diamondback with Varric, Donnic and, to everyone’s surprise, Anders. The nights are fun and, after a general ban on political talk has been enacted, even relaxing.

 

Even for Anders, life changes, although he does not notice at first. But for ever week drowning himself in the clinic, there was a card night at Fenris' mansion. For ever mage carefully smuggled out of the Circle, there was a measured discussion of the faults of Tevinter over cider and wine. For ever long night mired in his manifesto, there was an almost affectionate sigh and a steaming hot breadroll on their early morning excursions with Hawke.

 

He didn't think much of it - didn't have time to think of it, of the implications of that barely-there smile and his own fluttering heart. His cause didn't leave time for matters of the heart. The elf was only starting to warm up to him - there was no reason to interpret their budding friendship as anything else.

 

At least, that's what he told himself until Fenris showed up one evening, long after the lantern had burned out. This was not, in itself, a strange occurence - after rumors of templar activity in Darktown, Fenris would often come to escort Anders to the weekly card games. (Anders steadfastly ignored anything his traitorous brain wanted to read into that.)

 

It was for business, at first – Fenris had hurt himself while out with Hawke, his wrist twisted by parrying a revenant’s sword. Anders worried and nagged and healed it carefully, only earning an eyeroll from Fenris. Secretly, Anders rejoiced at how easily he was allowed to heal Fenris. There was trust blooming between them where before there was only hate and bitter suspicion.

“Better?” He asks once they are finished, and the now-familiar question earns him a rare smile. He would continue healing all day for another one of them.

 

Afterwards, Fenris stayed until he had finished for the day.  He offered his hand to pull Anders up from his chair, and lingered a bit too long, eyes searching. The walk was filled with pleasant small talk and the almost dizzying feeling of their fingers brushing together every other step. Anders could hardly take his eyes off of him. There’s a charge to the air, like a shield humming with power between them and the world.

When they arrived at the mansion, it was quiet. Empty.

“Oh no,” Fenris said, no sorrow in his voice as he turned to Anders. “It appears the others have cancelled. Tonight will be only for the two of us, if you are amenable?”

His hand brushed Anders’ once again, this time holding on.

 

Anders only gapes for one second before nodding, not finding words. This only seems to amuse Fenris, and he pulls the mage inside.

 

They dined together under the light of a dozen candles, soft music drifting in from the red district. Fenris’ was holding his hand. It was a perfectly lovely date.

Anders could not quite believe what was happening, but whatever fade he had ended up in, he did not want to leave.

 

Fenris seems perfectly at peace, pouring Anders wine with great finesse and topping it generously with water. He has yet to let go of Anders’ hand. Anders cannot find it in himself to mind.

 

This strange normalcy continued until all the food had been eaten and the last strands of violin had died on the evening breeze. Fenris was inspecting Anders’ hand, holding it up between them, bringing their connection into the center of attention.   
“Anders, I have been thinking…” For the first time that night, Fenris hesitated. Anders squeezed his hand slightly, willing him to say what he had been needing to say the entire evening.

 “You… must know that I care greatly for you, Anders. I would like to court you. But…”  He finally looked up at Anders then, wary but hope shining brightly in his eyes. Anders can only nod encouragingly, mind empty but for the words Fenris are speaking. Then Fenris looked down again, struggling with words.

“First, however – there are… things you should know. About me.” He stood up, abruptly – far from his earlier free-flowing confidence, his every move was jerky and sudden as he… stripped of his vest. And outer shirt. And – oh.

 

The binder was simple, practical. Black. Anders’ healers eyes could pick out a slight abrasion around the top, but otherwise it looked safe. He was glad that if Fenris needed to bind, he at least did so safely.

 

“I trust you understand the implications of this, Anders.” He stood for a beat, then sat down again, seemingly uncaring of his state of undress. Now that he had explained his worry, his comfort was back. “This is not a search for pity, or help. I just… I need to know, Anders.” He stressed the last part, and then fell silent.

 

It took a beat before Anders realized he was expected to answer.

“I – uh. I’m glad you’re binding properly?" Was the only thing he could think to say, but he continued at the incredulous look Fenris gave him. "I get all too many people who bind too tight, coming down with broken ribs or strange coughs. I mean I’m happy they feel comfortable, I get it – I mean, I can’t really but still. I mean - I just want you to feel - good. Yes." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, yes, you look very handsome, who’s your tailor? Nevermind, we can talk of that later. Right now, you're very handsome, and, umm, that's a definite yes to the courting, if you were wondering, must be obvious but -  “

 

It must have been uncomfortable, leaning across the table like that, but Anders was not complaining with Fenris’ laughing mouth covering his own. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trans Fenris is a very important headcanon of mine and I wanted it in here, but I didn't want him to be outed against his will. This was the only way I could think of that would get that across, so I apologize if it's clunky. I don't think it's necessary to share the fact that you're trans before dating someone but Fenris feels like the type of guy who would want to have everything clear from the get-go.


	4. The Fourth Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Fenris gets to know each other more... intimately.

Fenris let out a long, low moan, toes curling in pleasure.

“There, right –“ He hissed, fists creaking around the bedposts he was clutching. “Yesssss...”

Anders let out a chuckle and paused for a moment to add more oil.

“You’ve never had a proper massage, huh?”

 

Anders watched Fenris shake his head, ease evident in every movement. Now that he wasn’t talking anymore, a soft purr had started up once again that had Anders smiling uncontrollably. Seeing the usually so paranoid warrior loose and vulnerable under him did strange things to his heart – he had never felt so protective yet so confident about anyone. Here was a man who could and would tear the heart out of anyone who threatened him, trusting and happy under his hands.

Anders had moved on to strong, sure movements centered around Fenris’ spine, buttressed with the slightest bit of healing magic to heat the muscle and work out kinks.

“Your back is like solid steel, Fenris,” He said conversationally as he pressed on an especially sore spot, eliciting a howl from his lover. “You’re lucky I have such… magic hands.” Fenris groaned again, though whether from the terrible pun or a fresh wave of soothing magic was hard to say. He knew his body intimately by now – knowing just when to push and when to pull.

“How lucky I have a healer of my very own to help me with it, then.” The comment made Anders shiver with delight. That Fenris was possessive was not news, but Anders never though he would enjoy it so. Though it helped that Fenris was also gentle, caring, and never once tried to hide his care for Anders.

He popped a particularly tight muscle loose and smiled through the resulting noise of protest and pleasure.

“Better?” He asked, biting his tongue to keep the laughter out of his voice. The purr increased in volume.

The massage continued as such, the continuous purring only broken by Fenris’ noises of pleasure as Anders moved on to his neck and head, ending with a careful scalp massage.

“There we go Fenris, you can roll over – Fenris?” Anders carefully shook the elf, but it did not stop the content purring. The elf must have fallen asleep during the massage – feeling content and safe under the hands of a mage.

How things had changed. What with the situation of the world outside - the Qunari demanding more and more, Hawke's mother lost to crazy bloodmages, Hawke herself growing more vindictive and severe day by day - quiet days like these were their salvation, even though Justice was not happy with them. 

Anders carefully worked the towel out from under Fenris and pulled up the blanket, planning to leave the elf to his nap. Justice was moving, demanding they get back to their manifesto and planning. 

Fenris wouldn’t have any of that, however, his hand immediately closing around Anders’ wrist as he pulled away.

“Come to bed, mage. I will not have you alone and exhausting yourself today.”

Anders hesitated. Justice was right - he had duties to his fellow mages...

Fenris chose that moment to look up, blinking sweetly under white bangs while lifting the covers invitingly. Anders caved, despite Justice's protests, and crawled under the warm  cover and into a sleepy embrace.

“Rest, my mage. You have done enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't write smut.
> 
> Lots of little headcanons inbetween all the fluff. Can you spot them all?
> 
> Also if this feels like the calm before the storm, it's because it absolutely is.


	5. The Final Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Chantry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: temporary (?) major character death.  
> I'm sorry.

Anders looked up at the burning chantry. He felt nothing at the sight – it had replayed in his mind’s eyes so many times up until this moment that he could barely believe it was happening for real.

Finally, no one could ignore any mage any longer. No matter what happened from now on, change would be inevitable.

He knew no one else would feel the same, but Hawke’s fist colliding with his face was still unexpected. He tumbled to the ground, barely catching himself as his head spins.

“You lied to me.” She hissed out between clenched teeth, and Anders winced at the hurt and fury in her eyes. “Why?”

“It had to be done. The mages…” She interrupt him.

“Why did you betray me, Anders? Everything I have worked for in this city is ruined!” Anders has heard this rhetoric before, and his heart goes cold with the knowledge that he will not live out the day.

Hawke did not take betrayal well. Her brother, Bartrand, Isabela, the countless others who had thought to use her for their own gains… all dead or worse.

 _He had known it would come to this_. Justice is a wall of calm in his mind, preventing him from running. They have done their duty. They must face the consequences. It is only just. They watch as Hawke steps closer, dagger drawn.

 

Fenris seems to disagree.

“If you take one more step, Hawke, our friendship will have no bearing on what I do next.” His voice is tense, a snarl not far under the surface, but he is calm as he stands between Anders on the ground and the force of nature that is Hawke. They regard each other with care, measuring out who would win if it came to blows. Anders knows how it will end. Fenris is bleeding from several cuts after their skirmish with the templars just before, reckless and drained. Hawke’s confidence is not without reason – she has command of far greater power than either of them can get close to. She has fought dragons, the Arishok, magister both new and old – and won, every time. She will win this time too.

Fenris knows this, as well. Anders can see it in the set of his jaw, the grim acceptance in his stance.

“Step aside, Fenris.”

“No.”

But Fenris loves him, and so he will not step down.

And Anders loves Fenris, and so he reaches out with glowing hands and lets a sleeping spell send the warrior tumbling into his arms.

 

Hawke takes a step back in surprise but not in terror, as no glowing abomination steps up to face her. Instead, Anders lays Fenris gently on the ground. He picks up his gloved hand and sends a pulse of healing magic through the warriors body, rejuvenating him for what will surely be a long and bloody battle – life – without him.

It seems pointless to talk, so he swallows the question he is so used to asking, presses a final kiss to his hand, and turns away. A nearby crate is beckoning - It seems as if that healing spell took out every ounce of power he had left. It is one he has done hundreds of times, but knowing it was the final one…

“Do what you need, Hawke.” He says, eyes closed, fighting back every instinct screaming at him to run.   
“I’m ready.”

The knife in his back hurts, but in his last moments, he is glad Fenris did not have to see his tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, again. It was interesting to write a Hawke with such conviction in their morals, but... the end result was inevitable. Also, if you think I should change the tag into a major character death one, please let me know! There are... things that will happen in the next chapter that makes me not want to, but I can put one up temporarily if you think it's necessary.   
> One chapter left!


	6. And One More Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Ending(?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's late, my weekend was crazy. I hope you enjoy!

Anders woke in blood and fire, choking on a healing potion and the empty, hollow feeling in his gut where Justice had rested for years, now an aching hole.

Of course, that might just be the stab wound in his back.

 He coughed, heaved, and weakly batted at the potion being forced between his lips before remembering that potions usually helped with stab wounds, and greedily gulped it down. Only once the bottle had been removed did he open his eyes, blinking at the blurry face above him.

“What – “ He didn’t know how to continue the sentence. Luckily, he did not have to.

“How dare you do this to me, mage!” A voice, familiar in its righteous anger.

“You…” He tried again.

“You have no right to… How could you let this happen? Was it Justice?”

“I – “

“You let yourself be killed, Anders! Killed! You died right in front of me! Do you have any idea how – How I – “Choked silence followed, tears dripping warmly down on Anders’ cold face. He reached up to wipe those tears away, cupping a warm cheek.

“Fenris.” He exhaled, and it was as if the floodgates had opened. The elf gathered him into his arms, face buried in his neck as he cried, angry and relieved and terrified all at once.

“I’m sorry, Fenris.” It was all he could think of to say.

“You better be, you fool mage.” Fenris grumbled from the vicinity of his collarbone, an edge of laughter sneaking into the tear-roughened voice.  

“We should go.”

“You have blown up the chantry of the biggest city in the free marches. You will be in every templar’s lips for decades to come. We should most definitely go.”

A moment passed. Then, another.

“I can’t help but notice we are not moving.”

“I almost lost you, fool mage. Let me reassure myself you are really here. Then we can go.” Fenris paused for a moment, fighting a smile, before asking:

“Better?”

Anders huffed out a laugh.

“All better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally done! I hope you enjoyed it :) I'm considering writing an epilogue, if anyone is interested? I'm thinking some fluffy fun times in Antiva, or leading a slave revolution in Tevinter, or some similar happy ending. That would also be a bit longer than all of these short chapters I've been writing, so it might take a bit.


End file.
